Hook Cooks
by reyclou
Summary: While wandering the Enchanted Forest, Hook makes lunch while Emma naps. ("That's it, sweetheart... Talk to me in your faraway dreams. Let's call it practice. Practice, and someday soon, you'll be ready to talk. Really talk. Then it will really be a dream, Emma—my dream, come true.")


_Just a little fluff/scene insert set early in the S3 finale._

* * *

Again, Killian struck a flint against his hook, a shock of sparks at last catching the pile of kindling before him. The twigs slowly warmed and began to smolder, but he only felt the heat of Emma's glare on the back of his neck.

"I'm not taking a nap with you in the middle of the Enchanted Forest, Hook. This is serious."

"While I appreciate the mental imagery, lass," he said with a smirk, "I said _you_ should rest. It's going to take a little time to get lunch in order," Killian knelt forward to feed a few larger twigs into the growing fire before turning his head back toward Emma. She stood above him, shooting him THAT look, the I-know-what-you're-up-to-and-it's-sooo-not-happening look, "and if we're to be stranded alone at the mercy of fate while we wait, well, we might as well make good use of the time."

"I'm really not in the mood for your games right now, Killian."

He shot back with an expression of feigned hurt. "Aw, and here I thought you looked like you were just bursting for a game of croquet," he joked, but to no avail. Emma's glare didn't soften, so he brushed his hand on his side and stood to face her squarely, showing his sincerity. "I'm serious, love, we've been walking for hours, a short rest would serve you well, and the fact that you're even arguing with me about it only tells me just how tired you really are. It may be some time before you get another chance."

"You've walked the same as me," Emma challenged. "How about you rest, I'll handle lunch."

Killian shook his good arm out of his coat, "I still know the land better than you do, Emma. You must agree I make the most sensible lookout and, no slight on your culinary skills, but I really don't think you could best me at roast rabbit." Pulling the rest of the leather long coat free, Killian gingerly laid it a safe distance from the fire and gestured at it invitingly. "However, if you're really that set against a little cat nap, you're welcome to sit up with me," his voice dropped low as he leaned into her personal space with a decided wink. "We can have a… good long talk."

Emma's glare didn't falter, but after a moment, she brushed by him with a decided annoyance, "Wake me as soon as the food is ready."

"As you wish."

Emma angrily slumped down on dark leather and, as Killian had anticipated, fell asleep within minutes.

Killian busied himself with the cook fire, prepping a small number of rabbits they _borrowed_ from an unguarded trap hours earlier, arranging them just so above the flames. He was indeed tired, very tired, not only in body, but with this enduring standoff with Emma, also in his soul. The food set for the moment, he leaned back and, though he sensed no great danger, slipped his pistol from his belt with his good hand, just in case. He was checking the chamber for bullets when he caught movement in the corner of his eye as Emma shifted in her sleep, groaning. He moved to check on her, but caught only faint, unintelligible mumblings, the half-formed language of a mind drifting in untouchable slumber.

Relieved, Killian sighed. She was fine, just dreaming.

A chill wind blew across the campsite, sweeping strands Emma's blonde hair across her face. Killian tugged the flaps of his jacket to better cover her.

"Killian," slipped from Emma's lips so clearly, Killian thought he'd woken her, but her breathing remained steady, shallow, and most of all peaceful, which he doubted would be the case if Emma awoke to find him kneeling over her like a crazy man. No, he deduced, she was still off somewhere realms away, talking to familiar visions of her own making, an escape from the endless running of her recent reality.

"That's it, sweetheart," he whispered, gently pulling the hair away from her face with his hook. "Talk to me in your faraway dreams. Let's call it practice. Practice, and someday soon, you'll be ready to talk. Really talk. Then it will really be a dream, Emma—my dream, come true."

He sat there for a few moments, watching her sleep, until a crackle of the fire broke his concentration. "Right, lunch," he said to himself as he turned his attention back to the roasting meat, to shift his mind from a fantasy where Emma Swan dreamed of Killian Jones.


End file.
